


Nothing Dearer

by sewn



Category: The Shannara Chronicles (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Clothed Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Father/Daughter Incest, Fluff, Magic Made Them Do It, Platonic Cuddling, Sensitive Elf Ears, Vaginal Fingering, dad feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-07-28 16:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20067127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sewn/pseuds/sewn
Summary: There was also something else about it that was soothing, something I didn’t dare give voice to just yet. I never got to hold Mareth as a baby, and never thought it would be a thing I regretted missing; but knowing I had sired a child was slowly affecting my moods. It was difficult to reconcile an adult woman with an imagined newborn, but our physical relationship was beginning to resemble something that we could have had had I raised her.





	1. Chapter 1

One of the changes I didn’t expect to come of my acquiring a druid apprentice was that to my sleep. The change was not unwelcome; for the last years—longer than I could remember, in fact—I had slept fitfully, like a dog, body and mind both unable to leave the day’s tensions behind. What calm and relaxation I achieved was during meditation, and even so, the landscapes of my mind had turned barren, good perhaps for solitary thought but offering no stimulation beyond that.

I was certain I had Mareth to thank for my newfound nightly rest. Even the lands created by my sleeping druid’s mind had now grown green with lush forests and fields, or burst into abstract, colourful spaces, the likes I had not seen since my days of youth centuries ago. It had to have something to do with another magic user by my side; power wielded together was always stronger than that alone, and it manifested in various ways. For years, it hadn’t been so, out of circumstance. I had only had my teacher, Bremen, the only escapee from the ruins of the fortress he once called home, Paranor. He had experienced the company of other druids, hundredfold, as a young man among his peers. I had had the privilege of his company for a while, but he was already advanced in years when he found me, and with his passing, I was left adrift and alone.

The only old druid I knew of, Cogline, had been my acquaintance for years, but our path had come to a fork, and neither of us had found an apprentice. His interests had eventually turned away from magic, and his passions lay in the machineries of old. It was only the recent events that had forced us to work together again.

Thus, having Mareth, a new pupil—a _daughter_, no less—in my life awakened something barely remembered in me.

Mareth was a tactile magic user who drew her power from the natural world all around us. It didn’t take us long to discover the power of physical contact between two druids; once, in a moment of learning, she’d grabbed my hand in excitement, twining our fingers together, and a shiver passed through me as I felt her power intimately.

”Do you feel that?” she had asked, eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration.

Swallowing down a sudden thickness in my throat, I slowly pulled her closer, as if urged on by the power. She came willingly, buried herself in my chest and sighed as I wrapped an arm carefully around her shoulders. It was the first time we had touched each other with such affection. The spell we had been going over carved itself in her mind easily. Ever since, while learning spells or casting them, we would touch, be it fingertips pressed together or a full embrace. 

We had also taken to meditating together, sometimes merely sharing a space or pressing our palms together, though lately we had drifted towards lying together on the bed—more often the ground—Mareth curled up under my arm. Between our bodies, the magic hummed, warmed us up. I’d never experienced the kind of unity of magical power before; this was never a technique taught to me by my master—the very thought was amusing. Besides the magical connection, the warmth of her body was a comfort on the road, the kind I hadn’t let myself admit I had missed.

There was also something else about it that was soothing, something I didn’t dare give voice to just yet. I never got to hold Mareth as a baby, and never thought it would be a thing I regretted missing; but knowing I had sired a child was slowly affecting my moods. It was difficult to reconcile an adult woman with an imagined newborn, but our physical relationship was beginning to resemble something that we could have had had I raised her.

Sometimes we slipped into a shared dreamspace, often lonesome natural vistas, sometimes illogical states of being that operated outside the laws of nature. This world was the druids’ secret domain: a way to reorient your thoughts and reflect on life beyond the physical. It was also necessary for the detachment that druid life required, an experience that set you apart from the rest of the living beings.

The lucid dreams were free for us to explore and enjoy, but their allure was sometimes dangerous, as I had warned her. There was a temptation to linger in their embrace for too long and leave your body to starve in reality. Nevertheless, Mareth enjoyed these shared dreamwalks to the fullest. Once, when we happened upon the shore of a glowing purple lake, where waves lapped gently at fine, dark sand, her eyes brightened.

”Can we go swim?” She was already taking her boots off.

”I don’t see why not,” I said, though I would not have thought of it myself.

Stripped bare with the immediacy of dream logic, Mareth waded through the water until she was submerged up to her chest. ”It gets deeper and deeper,” she said, then bounced up a-swim. ”Come on. It’s warm.”

She swam closer as I had made my way into the lake; then, not uncharacteristically but still unexpectedly, she splashed the water.

”Mareth,” I said with some exasperation, my tone perilously close to lecturing a child, blinking and wiping my eyes, but she glided closer and I was happy to see the glint in her eye: a ray of light through clouds.

”I’m sorry,” she said and reached up to brush droplets from my beard. ”I just haven’t done this for a while.” It was true we hadn’t often stopped to enjoy lakes or rivers beyond washing ourselves on our journeys through the Four-Lands. Perhaps that was why one of us had dreamt this place.

The water was ideal in temperature, the liquid just slightly thicker than real water. It gathered into unnaturally big drops on the skin before gravity pulled them down; the drops hung in the air a little longer than they should have done. The gleaming purple colour stuck to Mareth’s runes, turning her skin into a canvas where the familiar shapes stood out: two runes over her spine, one on the back of her neck and one between her shoulder blades; two above her hipbones; and one between her breasts. It made her look like an embodiment of druid magic, some fleeting, ethereal being.

”We have to go,” I reminded her after a while when I had satisfied my curiosity about swimming in the substance. Mareth swam up to me and we linked our fingers together, her cool, slick body pressing against mine from chest to toe; when we awoke, we were similarly tangled, if fully clothed.

”We should go swimming for real,” Mareth said, eyes half-lidded and one of her hair braids undone. Some nameless force held my heart in its grip as I gazed at her waking face.

  


We did swim in actuality, some time later, though out of necessity rather than pleasure, diving after an ancient weapon buried in underwater ruins. A far less enjoyable experience, I mused, as we wrung the muddy water out of our clothes and huddled under a blanket.

Such was the nature of our work. Besides studying, we traveled the Lands in search of knowledge of magical items and their locations. Much had been destroyed and lost since the druid order was violently dissolved, and now that the immediate threat of Brona had passed, I had set us the task of recovering what still could be found, be it Elfstones or other artefacts.

The threat of the Warlock Lord may have faded, but he was not so easily defeated. Wil may have run the Sword through his rotting body, but it was only a husk: a deformed vessel carved out of my blood and dark magic. Wil’s sacrifice wasn’t for nothing— he had saved the Four-Lands from a certain destruction—but it would be unless others continued to fight the darkness. The tragedy of such victories was that they were never final. It wasn’t for mortals to bear, except in an abstract way, but the Void never disappeared. It merely retreated, portals to its vile realm temporarily stitched shut until some demon tore them open again. The next might be Brona, or someone else, unknown to the wisest of us, but it didn’t matter.

”You’re brooding.” Mareth sat next to me. ”You know it’s not good for your health.” She tried to sound chipper, but I felt her weariness all the same. We had climbed a long way up a mountain this afternoon until we finally reached a woodless, barren expanse where an ancient shelter still stood. There was a path that we could follow, but it had been unused for years as it predated the ones carved by the dwarves who had crossed the Charnals a century ago, rendering this one obsolete. It had been the only way to cross the mountains five centuries ago, and it had not been any more pleasant a trek back then.

”I do not feel especially joyous,” I said, perhaps a little too archly. I did not wish to quarrel over Mareth’s teasing but had no patience for engaging in light conversation either.

She took pity on me, leaned against my shoulder instead and took my hand between hers.

”We should rest for longer,” she suggested. ”We’ll be no use in a fight if we end up in one.”

”We are close.” If the map we were using as our guide was to be trusted, we had only a few miles left to climb. A brief respite and a chance to fill our flagons with fresh water from a mountain stream would be enough.

The sun was setting by the time we found the entrance; it was hidden by years of growth, and it took some time to make our way through the bushes and vines. Even Mareth, attuned as she was to growing things, couldn’t force age-old plants to give way without considerable effort.

Once we finally found our way in, through a stone door that was more easily moved than the greenery, we saw that the cave wasn’t deep but had a high ceiling; the space had been carved with intent. It was entirely dark until we lit our torches. No other torch seemed to be in place, nor oil lamps. They might have rotted away with time, though oil should have kept. It was unusual to find such a dark place that was otherwise meticulously crafted. Stone and metal filled the place and the straight, smooth walls were lined with high shelves.

Mareth inspected the tables on the far wall of the cave.

”There’s writing here,” she called. ”And jewels.”

The broad table, of some unknown metal alloy, it appeared, was covered in cabochons set in neat rows side by side. Mareth held her outstretched hand above them.

”I don’t feel anything,” she said, then lowered her palm.

At first nothing happened. She touched the stones lightly with her fingertips, then pressed some harder.

”Oh!” Suddenly, light burst into being all around us, a string of them somewhere far above. ”I just touched this one,” she indicated a blue round jewel.

It had to be a system that worked with electricity, hidden somewhere in the walls. I had no deeper understanding of the ancient technology beyond its occasional usefulness.

”How old is this place?” Mareth wondered as she turned around to look at the now illuminated cave. In light, it appeared even more room-like, clearly without a natural force behind it except perhaps for a corner that had collapsed. It looked like some burst of powerful force had damaged the wall. I walked over to the rocks still scattered there. It appeared they had been in place for a long time as well. We must have been the first to breach this place in decades, if not centuries.

”A thousand years, perhaps even older.” I crouched to look at the rocks. They betrayed nothing out of the ordinary.

”Are you sure the map doesn’t have any further instructions?” Mareth was walking around the cave and going over the shelves. Most of them were empty, but some were stocked with more items made of old metals. If nothing else, we could carry some down and send them to Cogline and Eretria for inspection.

”Not in words, no.” I rose and dusted my knees. ”But if what we’re looking for is protected by magic, we could locate it with a spell.”

The map had certainly hummed with power, most likely written by a druid. I garnered we could sense the object, or traces of whomever left it here, with the help of a simple revelation spell. Mareth walked over to me and we embraced; she slid her palms up my chest and I wrapped my arms around her. She pressed her cheek to my chest, listening to my heartbeat as she often liked to do. The gathering of power around us prickled my skin. Mareth drew in a deep breath and I could feel her concentration. Quietly, we went over the spell and and stayed together waiting for it to take effect. I breathed in her scent, the dust of the road, the mountain air. Her fingers were warm and comforting on the back of my neck.

Soon, a sound pulled us out of the moment. The far wall had cracked, revealing another shelf. Something glimmered in the light; on closer inspection, it was a rectangular metal plate, the size of a small book but thin and flat. Mareth reached for it.

As soon as she touched the plate, a thundering sound erupted from somewhere above. Its echoes filled the cavernous space. From the darkness, shadows emerged: some demon-wraiths, I saw, trapped here to guard the treasure.

Mareth was quick to react. She dropped the plate on the table and drew her sword, already in motion while it was still emerging from the Word. She slashed at one of the creatures just as the blade crystallised. The monster screeched and vaporised.

They were not strong creatures, not a match for a druid’s blade. I disposed of one myself, shoving the staff at its chest: it exploded, blinding me, just enough for another to attack me. It had claws—bony human fingers sharpened into spikes, perhaps while it was still alive—and it slashed at my side. The damage was only to the leather, but it had enough mass to throw me off balance and make me lose my hold.

Without the staff, I was vulnerable to an attack. Two of the wraiths swept in. I felt a sudden chill down from my scalp to the end of my spine. One of the creatures had slashed through me with its foggy blade from behind. Pain shot through me, and as I fell to my knees, another threw itself at me, crushing my throat with its claw-like hands.

The wraith fell into a pile of ash as Mareth ran her blade through it. It screamed, a blood-curdling cry, as did the other one. It rose up to chase Mareth and left me alone.

The wraiths were mere shadows of the demons of ages past; an echo of the Void, nothing substantial yet enough to harm a common man who would set them free. For a druid, they were no lethal opponent—or they shouldn’t have been, I thought as my head hit the ground with a thud that made my ears ring.

Mareth’s blade was stuck to the remains of the slain wraith so she left it there. She ran, then jumped, springing herself towards the other creature. The wraith hissed at her and swiftly moved, trying to escape. Not missing a beat, Mareth twisted herself in the air, changing the arc of her fall, and landed a kick in the middle of its chest. They crashed onto the ground, and the creature’s bones cracked under her weight.

I was still trying to catch my breath as Mareth held out her hand without taking her eyes off the hissing thing and commanded the staff to move. It shot through the air into her hand and she shoved its burning end into the bony chest.

One word, and the creature was crumbling into dust under her.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back on the cold ground, hoping it was the last one. I had no doubt Mareth was capable of fighting off more wraiths, but I was no help.

”Allanon.” Mareth’s voice sounded faint. She repeated my name. It was dark and I couldn't see her face.

”Dad. Dad!” A light slap to my cheek forced me awake. Mareth had kneeled by my side looking worried. There were scratches on her cheek where a wraith had clawed at her but she looked otherwise unharmed.

She helped me sit up. My head swam, but as I let my senses roam around, I could feel no magical wounds in my mind. The freezing cold that had penetrated my spine was dissipating. I sensed no trace of the wraiths either.

”Just a concussion.” My voice was hoarse from the wraith’s hold around my throat. ”Are you hurt?”

Mareth shook her head. She inspected my appearance, apparently finding nothing acute to worry about. Leaving me to clear my head, she returned to pick the plate up again and fill a bag with some objects from the shelves.

As we made our way down the mountainside, however, it became apparent I had broken some bone in my right foot; not the ankle, but one major enough that every step sent a spike of pain up my shin. Mareth had to support me until we got to a clearing where we could pause for a moment.

She had me sit down on an ancient, weather-worn stone seat that had been carved for travelers and hikers.

”There’s no need to use your power for such a thing,” I protested as she ran her thumb lightly along the arc of my foot.

”Shut up,” she said gently and pressed her thumb upwards, hard enough to make me bite my teeth together. ”There.”

She closed her eyes and concentrated. I could feel her magic moving about, in the copse of trees behind us, in the damp grass, in the misty evening air. I was still awed by her potential, by the unrestrained flow of her magic. For her, it was like a stream she dove in; an ocean of ancient power around her. She didn’t always comprehend what a gift it was, often frustrated when she accidentally broke something or hurt someone. I kept trying to reassure her that it was a long road into mastering any kind of power. It took me years to get where she was now, and it was likely she would be more powerful than I could ever hope to be—in many ways, she already was.

”Ah.” She bit her lip and slid her palm up so she could hold my ankle loosely. Her touch was warm and I thought I could sense the pulse in her fingertips.

”There.” She opened her eyes and let go. Her cheeks were reddened after the effort, her voice breathy. As much as she liked to protest, she had used magic beyond her limit today and would need rest soon. The little scratches on her face were slowly fading. ”Does it feel any different?”

I bent the ankle, pushed my toes in the ground and put some pressure on the foot. Nothing felt out of the ordinary.

”Much better. Thank you.”

Mareth smiled and got up. While I pulled on my boot, she dusted off her clothes. We were both still covered in the dirt of the cave, and her dark hair was gray with it.

”Ugh. I need a bath. Or two.” Mareth shook herself. ”I think I just inhaled a thousand-year-old body.” She looked at me and a laugh escaped her lips.

At my raised eyebrow, she said, ”Come here, old man.” I walked over, and when we were standing close, she began to clean my beard and hair. ”You look your age,” she added.

I sighed, but in truth I liked seeing her smile. The last weeks had been tasking, and now that we’d finally discovered the plate, we could breathe a little easier. Now there was just the matter of getting it to reveal its secrets.

”There.” Mareth was satisfied with her work and let go. The last brush of her fingers left my skin tingling.

We camped on the edge of the clearing for the night, still wary of wraiths or other lurking creatures, but were both quick to fall asleep.

We arrived in Arborlon at night, in the faint light of a sliver moon. Once they recognised her, the night guards at the palace saluted Mareth wordlessly. She was still the Queen, allowed unrestrained passage anywhere in the palace, even though she had all but given up her ruling power and instituted the Council leader as the head of the elven state instead.

”Being half of the world’s druid population is plenty enough,” she had said sunnily, when we had discussed it in private—she nominally appointed me as her advisor—but I could sense her conflicted thinking. She was the last of the Elessedils, and as such she would have wanted to honour her family—or Pyria, at least, as little as she had wanted to be a royal either. But it was impossible for me to teach her properly, were she to become the ruler of an entire race. So it was decreed that the Council would rule in her stead, rendering the Queen’s position ceremonial. After her, the royal line would end, in any event.

I had my own inner conflict about it but didn’t want to burden Mareth further. As her father, I wished for her happiness, and as the Queen, she could have had a fuller life, perhaps reconnect deeper with her elven heritage. But she was a druid—the only druid of her generation—and the fate of our order rested on her shoulders, whether she wanted it or not. Had she hesitated, I would have had to force her hand; no matter how much she would have hated it, and me, that was my duty to the Word. She would have come to see it eventually.

I’d known all this, and yet in my heart, I wasn’t sure if I would have been able to do it. I never had to test my dedication, though, as she seemed to arrive at the same conclusion on her own.

As it was, she had her diplomatic duties, and her quarters at the palace. We retired there, the late hour allowing us to skip any social engagements. The journey had been long, first down the mountain to retrieve our horses from the dwarf village in which we had left them, followed by a week’s ride across the Streleheim. 

As we finally entered the room, Mareth let out a deep sigh. She walked over to the divan and threw herself on it, making another pleased sound.

The Queen’s chambers consisted of a bedroom, a study, and a sitting room. Relatively modest, they were still opulent by the standards we were accustomed to as druids, as well as an uneasy match with road-weary travelers. Mareth’s chambermaids would certainly chide her in the morning for putting her dirty boots on the pillows. Sparing some thought to them, I took off my dust-covered leathers before venturing deeper into the rooms.

Mareth’s study was filled with books and scrolls. Her skills in organised cataloguing were still somewhat lacking, but she seemed to always find what she needed in the room. Adding to the sea of pergaments and vellum on her desk, I laid down the package in which we had hidden the plate and opened it. 

The metal was clean, likely preserved from the dust by the hidden shelf it was in, but with a dull shine to its silvery surface. It was surprisingly light and on one side, it was entirely covered in what looked like writing in an unknown language. The inscription was made of thin curling lines. It was entirely unknown to me; that was not uncommon, but it was rare that it resembled nothing I had seen before.

”Can you make sense of it?” Mareth had walked over from the sitting room.

”Not yet,” I admitted. ”But it’s not impossible to find out. It is unlikely its maker wouldn’t have wanted anyone to else to read it. It’s not unheard of, but druids seldom manufactured things only for personal use.” It was likely it was a record of some kind or, more likely, a spell. If it was, it was a long one: the lines filled the plate in its entirety except for a smooth square in one corner.

”If it is, do you think we should perform it?” Mareth picked the plate up and turned it around. The other side was smooth and unmarked. Flipping it around again, Mareth ran her fingers lightly over the plate, trying to feel around for its power. She squeezed her eyes shut in concentration.

”It… doesn’t feel like magic,” she said suspiciously. ”Not like anything I know of.”

That was curious, indeed.

”It might be so old we have no way to reach it.” I was not as attuned to the magical aura of physical objects as Mareth was, but nevertheless tried to sense the plate’s power, in vain.

Mareth touched the small, smooth rectangle in the corner of the plate with her thumb.

”Ow,” she muttered, but didn’t move her finger; I soon saw why: the lines of inscription had started to glow and blur.

”Something pricked me - look,” she said excitedly. The curling lines were moving, rearranging themselves. A bit of blood trickled out from under Mareth’s thumb, but she kept it in place.

The lines squirmed and straightened, beginning to look more familiar under our gaze.

Their shapes completely changed, the movement ended. After waiting for a while, Mareth lifted her finger. A small needle that had pushed into her thumb receded, melted back into the plate, her blood with it. Whoever had designed this device must have been familiar with blood magic—a curious thing to use it for a seemingly small thing. Blood was a powerful element, and devising a new spell with it required effort.

Mareth licked the blood off her thumb, staring at the new inscription.

”I can’t read this either,” she said in disappointment. ”Are you sure this isn’t some puzzle that goes on forever?”

I inspected the letter-like shapes for a while. It wasn’t entirely clear to me, but familiar patterns emerged as I studied it line by line.

”I don’t know what language this is, exactly, but I think I have seen the alphabet.” I hesitated to touch the plate, but I ran my fingers over it in the air. ”Look, here, this resembles Noalath. _Leadrik_.”

”So it is a druid’s work.” Mareth looked excited again. ”Can you translate it?”

”Perhaps.” If we were fortunate, Arborlon’s vast library would be of help—in fact, it was likely, as it housed many copies of Paranor’s old archives, and had helped me in my studies years ago. Failing that, there were always the gnomes to turn to. ”It might take time, but it’s not impossible.”

In fact, getting this far this quickly was suspiciously easy. And what of Mareth’s blood? Why had it worked—because she was a druid, or half-human, half-elf, or both? Was it all a happenstance? We discussed the matter for a while, but we were both beginning to feel the journey’s entire weight on us.

”We will get to it tomorrow.” I brushed a lock of hair from Mareth’s face; she had leaned against me while we talked on the divan.

”I have the Council meeting tomorrow, and then a lunch meeting. And then another meeting...” She was almost drifting off.

”Very well. We’ll meet tomorrow night.”

We parted for the night, in need of some space after yet another journey spent together. I never truly tired of Mareth’s company but was drawn to solitude all the same; a druid should favour both in perfect balance. Still, I found it difficult to find sleep without her body next to mine, and when I slept, my dreams were restless.


	2. Chapter 2

Mareth had to spend the entire day attending to courtly affairs, so the next step on our magical expedition had to wait until the late evening. I took the chance to venture down west towards the Rill Song. There was an old druid circle in the woods, off the path, a source of power, and I was in need of its calming presence after a night spent tossing and turning.

I tried to meditate, but my mind wouldn’t settle. I couldn’t stop thinking about the cave and the fight; this had been the case for the last week. I kept thinking back to Mareth’s body twisting in the air, her fierce power as she destroyed the dark beings. Perhaps my mind was trying to find something odd about our journey, some deceptive turn of events. The wraiths had been easily defeated. It could be a trap, intentioned to lull the plate’s discoverer into a false sense of security; just as well it could have been nothing more than that, a way to ensure no one but a magic wielder could find the plate.

Bodily calmed but mentally frustrated, I left the place and upon climbing back up to the palace, dedicated the rest of the day to consulting old books in its library. After the weeks spent in the relative calm of the mountains and the road, the elven city was shockingly loud and busy, and retiring to the quiet of the library was more than welcome.

My studying yielded some results: I hunted down a copy of a book I still remembered from my youth, one of meticulous grammatical analysis. In truth, this had never been a favoured part of the druid schooling of mine. I approached the matter of language as a set of tools, but had no real knack for becoming fluent in any of them. Where I excelled was memory, and much of my knowledge of arcane spells was based on memorising them phonetically. Improvisation was an impossibility—but it was a rare occasion you needed to hold a conversation in a thousand-year-old language.

The alphabet that had been revealed was indeed included in the dusty tome—another fortuitous turn of events, though I wasn’t about to question it just yet. I committed the corresponding letters to memory, burned them into my mind like etching copper. This was the kind of skill I had yet to pass on to Mareth; it required practice and more time spent in the dreamspace, where your mind could open up to new ways of learning. It was a useful skill for a druid to be able to catalogue a roomful of thoughts and memorise them all at once. Much of what was considered magic was just knowledge, given freely or not. Mareth had yet to develop the skills for mind-reading beyond sensing base emotions, but she would benefit from quick memorisation nonetheless.

The alphabet catalogued in my mind, it would be a simple operation to read the spell, perhaps even understand some of it. Another thing was how safe it would be.

Before returning to Mareth’s chambers, I took a much needed bath. I scrubbed myself clean more thoroughly than usual. It did feel like the dust of the mountain cave still lingered, after a cursory wash last night. As we were not planning to leave the palace, and it was warm in the halls, I abandoned my leathers and dressed simply in light trousers and a shirt. Seeing Mareth, however, made me feel woefully underdressed, truly like a peasant meeting his queen.

“Come in,” Mareth called to me from her study as I knocked on the door, which was ajar. I pushed the heavy oak door and was greeted with her softly lit rooms. The sun had set, the drapes were drawn, and candles bathed the room in warm, flickering light.

Mareth was still made up and dressed for some social gathering. I didn’t often pay attention to her choice of clothing—she favoured ornate jewelry but otherwise dressed plainly, for what my judgment was worth—but now I found my eyes could not leave her form. In addition to a black skirt that wrapped around her tightly, she was adorned with silver on her fingers and her wrists and in her hair, and she wore a bodice that was little more than a few leather straps holding together a black mesh of fine silk string. It looked both soft and like an armor; my attention was suddenly drawn to her chest, and I tried my best not to dwell on how the straps framed her breasts. I was not sure whether they were meant to cover her nipples or whether it was intentional that they were only shielded with the mesh. Unbidden, the horrifying thought entered my mind that I could easily tear the silk apart and slip the straps off her shoulders.

”Allanon.”

Her voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and with a start I realised I had begun to walk over and stopped to stare at her. I must have blushed like a boy, but Mareth just smiled and took my hand so she could pull me to sit on a divan with her. Next to her, I dared not stare at her body, but I was drawn in by her face and scent, as well; her painted eyes and lips, some perfume. Suddenly, she kissed me. 

Surprised, I didn’t have time to stop her when she leant closer and her lips pressed against mine. It was little more than a peck, but we never kissed, so the warmth of her lips was unfamiliar and shocking. On instinct, I nearly opened my mouth, but fortunately she pulled back before I did.

”You smell nice,” she said, a compliment that felt inappropriate directed at me. Her hands now rested in her lap, but I still felt their ghost touch on my chest where they had pressed down for a second.

”It’s just the bath,” I tried for a dry tone, but failed utterly. What could I say? Should? My voice sounded faint and I felt the need to draw in a sharp breath as she moved one hand to my thigh; a touch that was nothing out of the ordinary between us, and yet loaded with a new meaning.

”A very good bath, then,” she said, voice steady but colour high in cheeks.

”You –” I stopped myself, not sure what was about to come out of my mouth, probably some trite compliment in return, about her demeanor or sweet perfume. ”Do you have the plate near?”

”Here.” Mareth jumped up and retrieved the object from her desk nearby. I closed my eyes for a moment so as not to linger on her body. I was suddenly, confusingly, aware of the movement of her hips in a way I hadn’t been before.

It was good that the plate was there to concentrate on. The metal looked the same as before, dull silver, but the carved runes looked deeper, letters more defined.

”May I?” She dropped the plate in my hands. It was still warm with her touch.

I went over the writing quickly, transforming it letter by letter in my mind. The spell formed like it was laid out to me in front of my eyes or sounded in my ears; I only recognised half of a word here and there.

Finished, I let Mareth return the plate to her desk but within our sight.

”Do you think it’s dangerous to continue?” she asked as she returned to sit next to me, but it sounded like it was directed at herself. I sensed her curiosity, but also some apprehension, which was rare.

”Magic is always dangerous,” I said, a simple, meaningless truth. ”If you don’t want to –”

She shook her head. ”We should do it. We need to find out more.”

To ease her worry—and truthfully mine—I suggested we perform a simple protection charm. It wouldn’t shield us from any physical harm, but it would stop certain kinds of magic from reaching our minds.

”Alright.” Mareth moved closer, wrapped her arms around me in a smooth movement and—I almost gasped as there was a sudden pressure on my groin: she had straddled me, bunching up her skirt in the process.

I hadn’t realised a light arousal had settled in my body until her weight made me aware of the faint ache in my testicles. Mareth’s appearance, I realised with some distant shame, had simply aroused me.

”Is this alright?” She swallowed. The position was a little closer than usual, but not too out of the ordinary.

I told myself it was just a bodily reaction, utterly inappropriate but understandable. It might have been pathetic to react this way, but it didn’t mean anything beyond my being lonely and drawn to her outward beauty.

”Yes.” I embraced her in turn and ended up pulling her a little closer, hand on the small of her back, arm wrapped around her shoulders. She must have felt my hardness but she made no comment, just closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against mine. We performed the familiar charm quickly. Her breath warmed my face and I was acutely aware of her lips an inch away from mine.

”– _chavrak_ –” my voice broke on the last line and I could not force the last words out. Mareth finished the spell for us both.

We waited for the charm to settle. Her weight, as distracting as it was, was also comforting. The feeling of her magic surrounding me was always good. When our minds tangled together, it felt as if I was seeing the world differently. She sensed everything so keenly.

As I soaked in her magic, I became inevitably aware of her body, how she sensed my touch, her aroused state. She was similarly afflicted, drawn to my body and—it made me dizzy—aching between her legs.

It was natural, I told myself. We were both lonely, and cleaned up, suddenly in an intimate situation—

”Yeah?” she whispered. Her breath was warm and scented with mint.

”Yes, it is done.” I bit my teeth together as she moved away.

”Let’s begin,” she said as she sat down again. Her movement made her top slide and reveal new parts of her skin. My gaze was hopelessly drawn to the relief of her nipples, now hardened into tighter buds. I resisted the curiosity to read her mind any deeper, but I couldn’t ignore the gathering heat between her legs.

It was hopeless to mute the arousal as our work went on; we continued touching as we pressed our palms together. There was nothing to it but to ignore it and focus on what was important. I began the spell and she repeated the words after me in a hushed voice. Besides the unfamiliar sounds, the mere shape of her mouth fascinated me, the way her lips pressed together only to reveal her pearly white teeth again. The paint on her lips was a little smudged at one corner of her mouth. 

”Alright?” Mareth asked after the line.

”Good,” I said, and was rewarded with a smile. It struck me differently than usual, pleasing but also attractive in a way I couldn’t quite grasp. Like a mystery I’d have liked to investigate. I wondered why I had never seen her features in such a way before.

It wasn’t that I didn’t find Mareth pleasing to the eye; I’d never lingered on the fact, but I was aware that my daughter was beautiful. She shared some of her mother’s features, but her eyes were darker, hair raven-black. She wore her hair braided and tied up, but I was suddenly struck by the thought that I’d have liked to pull the pins out of her hair and run my fingers through the locks. A strand had escaped one of the braids and streamed down her neck and over her collarbone. I almost reached to brush it aside but stopped myself just in time.

As if sensing my thoughts, Mareth touched her neck. She didn’t touch her hair, though, instead fiddling with one of the leather straps of her top.

”I’m sorry, can we – can we stop?” Her voice was still low. “I gotta take this thing off. It’s been bothering me all day. Is that okay?”

I soundlessly shook my head as she let go of of my hand. She reached behind her back and undid something deftly with one hand, and the mesh of her bodice came loose. She tugged the silky fabric, spider-web-like, so fine it seemed, down into her lap. She sighed in pleasure.

The criss-crossing silk out of the way, her breasts were now revealed, the remaining thin black straps caging them as if to dare me to look. It was needless, for I did not have it in me to resist any more as my eyes were drawn downwards. Suddenly, more than anything I yearned to kiss the rune on her sternum, its texture under my tongue tantalisingly easy to imagine. I thought of biting at the underside of a firm breast. The most attractive part, though, were her nipples, full and round and dark pink in colour. They had tightened with her rising arousal and I imagined running my thumb over one to feel its shape, or kissing it, feeling it harden further under my tongue.

Mareth made a sound deep in her throat, one I had never heard before, and with a jolt I realised I had touched her, picked aside the piece of silk and cupped her waist with one hand. Her voice was accompanied by a squeeze of her fingers on my thigh. The rings on her fingers dug into my skin through the thin fabric.

Vicariously, I felt the tightening of her muscles between her legs. She was sitting cross-legged, still scooted close enough that she was almost in my lap, with her right hand on my thigh and left hand now on my arm. I was powerless to stop it as I slid my palm up her side so I could cover her right breast with the heel of my hand.

I half-expected her to push me off, but she didn’t, instead pressing herself closer still, fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt and trousers.

”We should concentrate on the text,” I managed to say out loud, even as I could not draw my eyes and hand away from her body. I slid a thumb under one leather strap that crossed her shoulder and pressed into the side of her breast. A little tug, and it fell off, leaving a light pattern on her skin where it had dug into her flesh.

”Mh-hm,” she agreed, though she squeezed my thigh harder and spread her legs, the skirt hiked up to her hips. I struggled to ignore my awareness of the fact that she was growing wet enough to stain her undergarments. ”Let’s start again.”

She bent closer again and brought her free hand back on mine as if encouraging me to touch her harder. The silver was cool but her skin burning. I closed my eyes and wet my dry lips again. I whispered the first line of the spell, and as I reached the end she took my mouth in a kiss, as if trying to swallow the words.

I could have stopped her. I should have. She pushed herself even closer so she could slide her palms up my chest and climb into my lap again.

”Is this -” _okay_, she wanted to ask, and I kissed her in answer before she finished. _Yes, by Ellcrys,_ yes.

Suddenly starved for each other, we stumbled over the next line of the spell, word by word, kiss by kiss. My other hand performed the same action as my right one and soon I had stripped her top off completely. I only dared to brush a thumb over a nipple fleetingly but it was enough to deepen our kiss.

Line by line, we went through the words it until she had worked open the buttons on my shirt and I was sliding my hand up her bare back and another under the waistband of her skirt. The runes on her skin pulsed lightly under my fingertips.

”What’s the next line,” she huffed into my mouth as she leaned in so her breasts pushed against my bare skin. The spell would have continued, but my mind was blank; all I could focus on was her skin on mine, her heat, the pressure on my groin.

She rose onto her knees, then lowered herself again, a slow roll of her hips that had nothing unintentional about it anymore. She was dripping wet, and I drew in her scent, my heart in my throat.

”Dad,” she murmured against my lips.

My cock strained in its confines but my blood froze and as if burned I let go of her shoulders.

”Mareth, we can’t,” I said desperately. I pushed her away a little too roughly. I could feel her instinct was to resist but her brain caught up to it and she drew back swiftly, left my lap empty as she stood up.

”I, I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. ”I shouldn’t -”

”No,” I said quickly. ”It’s not you. It’s the -” I stopped myself from reaching for her and gestured towards her desk.

”Of course,” she muttered, staring at the plate. ”Didn’t the charm work?”

”I’m not sure.” My cock was still throbbing painfully, but the distance between us helped clear my head a little. ”Maybe not for this kind of magic.”

Mareth crossed her arms, not really covering herself but enough to make me remember to act properly and avert my eyes.

”Let’s stop for now,” I concluded weakly as I stood up. ”This isn’t the way.”

”Alright,” Mareth said faintly. She picked up a shawl that was draped over a chair and busied herself wrapping it around her shoulders, mostly to let me button up my shirt in peace. I was painfully aware of her lingering arousal, the ache in her nipples and between her legs.

”We’ll talk about this later when…” I tried to think how to put it, ”when we’re in our right minds. I will call on you in the morning.”

I left her quarters quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid sensing that the second the door was closed, Mareth threw herself on the divan and feverishly pushed her fingers under her skirt.


	3. Chapter 3

It was not unheard of, I explained to Mareth the next day, that magical charms required or generated sexual energy.

”Whoever made this decided it was needed, but as to why… sometimes it is a side effect of the spell, sometimes it’s a requirement and…” I wasn’t quite sure how to word it, ”– a druid’s body reacts accordingly. — And sometimes it’s just meant as a mere distraction,” I added.

”Well, it surely is one,” Mareth said dryly. We had both released the sexual tension on our own, but I could tell we were already under the spell. It pointed to the arousal being perhaps something caused by the plate itself. Knowing about it made the affliction a little easier to bear, but I still tried my best not to let my eyes stray.

Mareth was dressed in her usual clothing today, black shorts and a top. She was barefoot, like she had just dressed up before I arrived, and wore no jewelry or her protective elven earrings. Her hair was in a simple braid that fell down one shoulder; unbraided, her hair would reach her waist, I gathered, though it suddenly occurred to me I had never seen her with her hair down. She hadn’t covered her arms, and the tattooed vines stood out, as did the turquoise wings, inviting me to run my fingers over them.

”So, if we want to continue, we just need to be aware of it,” I concluded my explanation.

”And what if,” Mareth began, then bit her lip, ”_when_ something happens, what do we do?”

I knew we would have to discuss it, but it was still uncomfortable. I struggled to meet Mareth’s eyes as I spoke.

”We do not have to do this.”

”Don’t you want to?” She looked quizzical. ”You said it yourself, this is the next step on the way. Would you throw it away just because of… impropriety?”

”I would not force you to do anything like this,” I said weakly.

”Stop it,” she said. ”You won’t. It’s… uncomfortable as all forbidding, but… I can take it. We’re both adults here.” Her tone had a forced lightness to it but her cheeks were faintly blushed. ”This –” she gestured between us, ”– it’s wrong. And it’s alright.” She paused for a while, then quickly added, ”But I wouldn’t have you do anything you don’t want to.”

I could feel her hesitation: she wondered if she had overstepped. In a way I had hoped she wouldn’t have wanted to continue. It would have made this conversation easier. But truthfully, I was curious about the spell, now more than before, and the map we were following had not let us astray so far.

”As long as we know what’s happening, I suppose we can stay focused,” I finally said. She relaxed a little. ”Like you say, it’s uncomfortable, but it’s only physical.” Ellcrys knew druids had to go through worse.

”Alright, we’ll do it then.”

I made to walk towards her study again, but Mareth indicated the door to her bedroom.

”Maybe...” she said, hesitating for a second. ”The bed would be good.” She pushed a curl of hair that had escaped the braid behind her ear. ”More space.”

It made sense, I agreed, and we moved over to her wide bed, which was covered with downy pillows. Plate set on the table next to her bed, we sat down, cross-legged. I rolled up my shirtsleeves absentmindedly; most of my attention was drawn to her feet, their delicate arcs. The spell appeared to make everything an object of desire. It was almost amusing, I thought, as my eyes followed the pleasing curves of her calves.

”Allanon.” Mareth’s voice was quiet but more decisive now. ”Whatever happens, we both know it’s the spell.” She touched my shoulder. ”It’s not on you. Or me.”

She leaned in and for a second I thought she was going to kiss me again, but she just embraced me. ”This doesn’t have to change.”

I was deeply relieved. After what had transpired, I had feared we had ruined our physical relationship as it was. I hadn’t even realised how close we had become before the risk of losing it all suddenly manifested.

”Do you want to…” she trailed of, but it was easy to read her mind.

”It’s the easiest way,” I said. My voice was too rough in my ears. She moved closer again, and instinctively, we tried to replicate our earlier position until I stopped and placed my hands on her hips. It was too suggestive, and already I felt an ache in my groin.

”Perhaps the other way around,” I said. ”Here.”

I sat with my back to the wall, softened with some pillows, so I could lean against it. Mareth understood immediately and crawled over so she could sit with her back to my chest.

”Good?” She squirmed to find a comfortable position.

I made an approving sound. She was still maddeningly desirable, but at least we were not simulating intercourse. It was a good compromise, and I kissed the back of her neck where one of her runes was. She smelled of the forest, of the cool autumn air. Perhaps she had gone out for a walk early in the morning.

”Let’s start, okay?” Mareth’s voice was a little shaky. I wrapped my arms around her and she placed her hand on my leg, the other over my hand that cradled her waist. I was faintly aware of the pulse on her inner wrist where it pressed against the back of my hand.

We began the spell anew, me whispering the words first into her ear. I tried to ignore my body’s desires and concentrate on the words and the thoughts, not the way her stomach undulated under my touch or how her hand slid up my thigh.

Mareth’s gasp was what broke my attention. I had ignored the realm of the physical perhaps too much as I had unthinkingly moved my hand between her legs and pushed my fingers between her thighs. As I glanced down I noticed that there was a glistening spot under my hand. She was soaking wet under my touch. The sensation sparked a shiver in me and my cock filled to its brim.

”Don’t stop,” she said, and for a second I didn’t understand that she meant the spell and almost curled my fingers.

”I’m sorry,” I managed to say and pulled my hand away as if burned. Her mind protested the loss of contact, but she didn’t say anything except the next words.

The spell was lengthy, and I found it harder and harder to recall as it went on. To catch a break, I stopped to mouth at her bared shoulder. My erection was painful, though bearable; I only wished my breeches weren’t so tight. Mareth pressed herself against me with a sinuous curve of her spine, and I felt her attention on my erect cock. I swallowed as her imagination supplied us both with a vision of me inside her.

Mareth squirmed in frustration, and I could tell she too fought the insistent arousal. She wanted to touch herself, but she was hesitant to do so in my lap. Perhaps I could help her, just to offer her some relief.

”May I?” I barely whispered.

”Yes,” Mareth said, her voice low, and I moved my hand so I could slide my palm up her thigh once more. Though the fabric of her shorts was dark, I could feel it was completely soaked through. I did not touch her further, though I wanted it suddenly more than anything; just provided her with something solid to push against.

”Is this –” she began, breaking into a gasp as she rocked her hips so she ground the spot where she ached the most against the heel of my hand.

”It’s alright.” All of a sudden, I was struck by the desire to lick up her neck. I only realised I’d done so when she tipped her head back and her back arched again.

Mareth turned her head, wanting a kiss. For a second I tried to resist, but I had little control left. What began chaste turned soon hungry and frantic, and suddenly she writhed in my arms so she could to turn around. Instinctively, I tightened my hold and broke the kiss.

Mareth whined, a sound that made me feel like an animal for a second, made me want to tear her clothes off her skin, but I silenced her protest with a harder, circling press through the wet fabric.

It was unfair, I knew, crossing some line, but it was easy to read her mind right now; it was like our bodies were connected too. The wave of pleasure through her reverberated in me and forced slickness out of my cock, painfully trapped under the now dampening fabric.

”Don’t you want to?” she asked, panting.

By Ellcrys, I did. My body wanted nothing more than to sink my cock into her sweet, hot cunt. I could almost imagine it, imagine how she would feel, the tightness and the fullness both.

”Yes,” I confessed feverishly. ”But we can’t. It’s, ah –” She reached back so she could grab my side and wriggle even closer. ”We’ll just have to get through this.”

I was not sure what the _getting through_ entailed, but I told myself this was the lesser of evils. We were both near orgasm, and without some amount of stimulation, we would surely eventually snap and couple like beasts in heat.

”Right,” she muttered. She drew her knee up a little, lifted her hips. Following her thoughts, I left the vicinity her clitoris—I had somehow continued to rub at her—so I could open the buttons on her shorts. Slowly, I slid my hand in; my fingers met no resistance as I reached her heat.

”I’m never this wet,” she said, as if apologising, but the words were like a lightning through me.

”Let’s just,” I managed to say, ”get this over with. We are nearly finished.”

I slid my hand further down under the constraint of the fabric, and as I whispered the next words of the spell, my fingers slipped between her labia. It was just so Mareth could get some relief, I told myself, and I was satisfied as she moved her hips, just slightly; I felt more than heard her gasp as my fingertips slid a little further. I did my best not to focus on how good the slickness felt, how good—oh, Ellcrys—she smelled. I pictured her taste and how she would feel under my tongue. Mareth repeated the words, ending the line on a moan, and I couldn’t stop myself as I licked up the shell of her ear, out of some old habit.

It was indecent to take advantage of her physiology of like this, but she reacted like a full elf, shuddering, a sharp, stuttering sound escaping her lips. I pushed against her at the sight and the sound; my cock pushed insistently against the seam of my breeches and my testicles were tight and sore beyond believe. It was a wonder I didn’t spend myself there and then.

Acutely, I could feel Mareth teeter on the brink of an orgasm, half of her desperate to come, half of her wishing to stretch out the sensation.

”I want you to come inside me,” she said with such intensity that it made me gasp.

”Don’t – don’t say that.” 

”I do, I want your come, I want to drip with it –”

”Stop. You don’t know what you’re saying.” My voice cracked, her—or my own—mind supplying me with another imagined sensation, that of spending myself inside her and filling her to the full. Instant shame mingled with the thought, the audacity of it; it was something I _could_ do now, easily.

The spell wasn’t done, but I needed to end this before something worse happened.

”I’m sorry,” I whispered, not knowing how to really warn her, and pushed my fingers deeper, towards her entrance. She was sensitive there, the rim, and I swiped around, just a light touch, tried to circle around her clitoris with my thumb. I sucked the tip of her ear between my lips. It was inelegant, awkward, and I wished I could have done better for her sake, but then she was tensing all over, calf muscles hard as she pressed her feet down on the bed.

”Da–ad,” she said, quiet and desperate, and I licked at her ear again; she grew even wetter as she came, bursts and bursts covering my fingers all over, spreading as a slick stain all over her shorts.

Mareth was still half-orgasmic as she turned around in my arms, and I let her, hand slipping out of her shorts, no longer able to stop her, my skin on fire. She worked the laces of my breeches open feverishly, half magic, half trembling fingers. When she was done, she dropped her head on my shoulder and pushed one hand slowly in, around my length.

”You smell so good,” she sighed, and I could feel her yearning. For a fraction of a second I was sure she was going to get down and take me in her mouth.

”Mareth –” I said in desperation, and then I was coming all over her hand and on our clothes.

After a few moments filled with quivering breaths, I released my grip on her; I had dug my fingers into her hips, perhaps enough to bruise her.

”Is it gone?” Mareth mumbled. She had let go of me, but was still leaning against me, face pushed into the crook of my neck.

The piercing need for release had passed, but I couldn’t deny my body still hummed with desire. Our clothes were a damning sight, stained with the evidence of our lust.

”I am not sure.” I stroked her back. I didn’t want to reignite the flames, but I also wanted to assure us both and not let go of her in this moment of uncertainty.

Mareth looked up, and my heart skipped a beat as I thought she was going to back away entirely. She touched my cheek instead with her clean hand. Her fingers were still trembling a little.

”I’m sorry,” she said, and I could feel the ache in her chest. ”If it wasn’t for –”

I shook my head and reached to take her hand in mine. ”No. There’s nothing to be sorry for. All this,” I swallowed, ”It’s no one’s fault. As you said.”

We looked at each other for a while with our sticky fingers loosely tangled. Carefully, Mareth leaned towards me and kissed me. Compared to what we had just done, it was calm, almost cautious, but reassuring.

”See?” she whispered, then kissed the other corner of my mouth for good measure.

We stayed like that for a while, lightly touching but nothing more, the magic flickering between us.


	4. Chapter 4

Another restless night behind me, I already felt feverish upon entering her rooms. We had decided to sleep separately the previous night, though I had to confess I would have liked nothing more than to wake up next to her; we had also decided to finish the spell, no matter what.

This time, Mareth took me by the hand as soon as she had opened the door and pulled me towards the bedroom.

”I want to say something,” she said seriously. ”Come on.”

Mareth lead me to the bed again and had me sit down. She remained standing, hands fluttering over the buttons of the dress she had chosen to wear.

If we’re really going to have sex,” Mareth began with determination, though there were red blotches on her cheeks, ”I think it’s better to agree to it now.”

”Mareth,” I said with some desperation.

”Do you really think we’ll be able to hold back this time?”

I closed my eyes and tried to take a deep breath. It was true that I was already drawn to her. The curse of my detailed memory: now that I knew what my daughter looked and sounded like in the moment of her orgasm, it was hard to think about anything else. I had spent much of the previous day in agony after we had parted, the quiet of my own rooms offering no solace, nor the woods. If we so much as touched fingertips again, who knew how long it would take until we mindlessly tore each others’ clothes off.

”Dad.” Mareth spoke more softly. When I opened my eyes, her fingers were making swift work of the buttons on her dress.

”What are you doing?”

”I might as well. It’ll save time.”

I smiled despite myself. Belatedly I realised I had dressed myself lightly too, not thinking much at all about my attire until now.

A column of little buttons held the front of Mareth’s dress together. She worked her way down the bodice until a glimpse of her breasts was revealed, then took a slow step closer. She didn’t stop until she had reached the waist and was standing in front of me where I sat.

”You wanna do the rest?”

With barely steady fingers, I reached for the sash that fastened the dress at her waist. The buttons continued till knee; at thigh, I stopped, the mere sight of her marked skin and dark curls sending a spark up and down my spine. It took some effort not to tug until the offending fastenings simply tore off. I held back, and only once I was done, I slid my hands inside the dress and around her waist. The skin under my rough fingertips was warm and soft to the touch; it felt _right_. She took the last, small step closer so I had to look up to meet her eyes.

Mareth exhaled deeply as I kissed a rune above the ridge of her hipbone, then the one on other side, finally turning my attention to the one in the middle just above her pubic hair.

”So,” she said, steadying herself with a hand on my shoulder. ”Do you want to have sex with me?”

The answer to that question was wholly inappropriate and yet the most sensible, responsible thing to say right now. I’d never felt more like her father as I replied.

”Yes,” I whispered into her skin. ”And you?” I looked up.

”Yes. But let’s try the spell first, okay?”

Mareth encouraged me to stand up. She shrugged the dress off her shoulders and then undressed me, mirroring my actions until she could make me shed my shirt. The touch that followed was not much more than what we had enjoyed before, but skin-on-skin, it was now charged with a new kind of intent. I could feel she enjoyed the sensation of my chest hair under her fingers and savoured the heat of my body; we both ran hot, and the air in the room was cool on our skin. Mareth got on her tiptoes so she could press a kiss in the hollow of my throat and in a spot below my ear. She breathed in slowly and I sensed her longing, though not its exact target. I was so caught up in her thoughts that I almost didn’t notice the laces of my breeches had unfastened themselves.

“I know,” Mareth whispered, smiling as she pulled back. “Frivolous use of magic.” She reached up to kiss my lips and I didn’t have the heart or, frankly, the inclination to chide her for it.

Derobed, we settled side-by-side on the bed, now without pretension. The full-body contact felt good, not just physically, but magically; like the closeness we had indulged in before, but tenfold. Mareth must have felt it too as she burrowed closer and threw her leg over mine.

”It’s not so different, is it?” she asked dreamily like she was sensing my thoughts. ”Efficient, really.”

She was not wrong: for all that what we were doing should have been unnatural, I couldn’t help but feel like this was only an intuitive extension of our relationship. Why _shouldn’t_ we make love if it pleased us both, brought us closer together and strengthened the power? My half-erect cock pressed against her belly and I sensed Mareth weighing whether she should touch me, fingers on my hip; eventually, she wrapped a loose fist around me. Her grip was not hard but it enticed my cock to fill up.

This time, we performed the spell without much distraction. I concentrated on the words, strange yet familiar now, and let the sea of her power surround me, let my body do what it wanted of its own accord. I could now see the words and hear the sounds clearly in my mind, and I spoke them quietly into her ear, while she in turn repeated them. Some were spoken between our mouths, a mere whisper.

As we went on, our position shifted so she half-cradled me, releasing my cock in lieu of stroking at my upper arm and neck, and I found myself kissing the spot between her breasts. I whispered another word into her skin and followed it with my mouth, then another, until I couldn’t help myself and licked across her breast. Her fingers tightened in my hair and I sucked the nipple lightly between my lips.

”Fuck, dad.” She broke the spell and squirmed. The heat between her legs crashed over me as a slow wave.

Mareth said the words anew and as she finished the line I bit the nipple gently. Spell forgotten for a moment, I ran my tongue over it until it was hardened and swollen in my mouth and she had buried her face in my hair. I abandoned it to again kiss the rune between her breasts. It glowed faintly with magic, and so did the one on her abdomen, I noticed as I slid my palm over it, fingers grazing over her pubic mound.

We managed to go over a few lines while I kissed Mareth’s other breast; finally we succumbed to a longer wordless moment as I gave in and slipped my fingers between her legs. She was drenched like before, pubic hair in slick curls, and despite the awkwardness of the position my fingertips easily slipped deeper into her cunt, brushed lightly over her clitoris.

”Are we done yet?” Mareth was frustrated. She bucked her hips as I kissed her cheek.

”Nearly,” I murmured and drew my hand from between her thighs; she made a sound of protest that I swallowed.

Still kissing me, Mareth pushed at my shoulder, eager for me to turn on my back. As she laid herself on me, my cock was pressed between our bodies, and when she moved her hips up to slide my length between her thighs, the sensation made us both gasp.

Concentration slipping, I spoke the last words. Mareth repeated them slowly after me. She worked her hand between our bodies and took my cock in a loose hold again. She squeezed the root gently, a tantalising ghost of a firmer touch.

”Is that it?” She lifted her hips a little. The head of my cock slid between her slick labia.

”Ye–” I couldn’t hold back a moan as she took me into her silky warmth.

”Good.” Mareth bent down to kiss me, pushing her hips down slowly.

She felt so good around me after the last few days that I could have—might have—cried out. I hadn’t known how much my body had yearned for this simple act of joining with hers. I couldn’t stop the deluge of her sensations that filled my senses, and I closed my eyes and echoed her sounds as she finally brought her whole weight down on me.

Despite the feverish days we had just lived through, and the intensity of the connection, the rhythm of our movement stayed slow; we were not in a hurry anymore. Mareth ran her fingers up my chest and dug her nails in just so. It sent a small shiver through me, one she could feel, and she did it again, deeper, pleased with my reaction; the pleasure was doubled, shared between us.

”Fuck,” she said, though she sounded tender. ”That’s so fu–” her voice stuttered, ”fucking good.”

Normally I disliked her coarse language and would have said so, but her tone and the accompanying movement of her hips shut my mouth. I swallowed thickly and brought my hands to her hips just to feel her skin, to run my thumbs over her hipbones, my palms down her thighs.

”Why didn’t we do this before?” she continued, her voice sending sparks down my spine as much as the sinuous movement of her hips, ”I wanna do this always, I fucking love your cock, oh, _fucking forbidding_ –”

She rolled her hips in a slight circle, a movement that made me dizzy, and I held tighter on to her hips, fearing I hurt her with my grip, but she just made a noise low in her throat like a moan and a laugh at once. Unthinkingly, I’d moved one hand to the small of her back and slid it up. Encouraged, I pulled her down again so I could swallow her words. It didn’t quiet her down, and she whispered a litany of filth into my mouth and then cheek and ear, and I tried to chase her mouth to catch it all until she rocked her hips in a way that made me swear too.

Orgasm overtook her first; it went like a shock through me, the sensation overflowing her body, surrounding me and filling my senses. Through a fog, I could feel her biting my skin, gently, at the shoulder, and it sent shivers all over my body.

“You wanna come inside me?” she panted softly, her eyes closed, muscles still moving inside, the lightest sheen of sweat on her cheeks, as I sought to look at her face.

“Is that –” I couldn’t hold back a sound as another tightening of her cunt nearly pushed me over the edge.

Mareth shook her head, knowing my intent. “It’s okay.” She sat up again and grasped for my hand, placed my palm on her abdomen where the rune glowed warm. “Nothing’s gonna happen.”

I knew it was never certain, not even for druids, as her very existence proved, but my body longed to fill hers, had done so all day, if not longer.

“It’s okay,” she repeated and then she rocked her hips just once more with force, and I spent myself in her heat.

She let herself fall back on me, cheek on my shoulder. We stayed still for a while, breathing each other in, my cock still in her.

Finally, I lifted my hand to brush over Mareth’s cheekbone with my thumb and continued the movement along the rim of her pointed ear. She smiled and shivered and tugged lightly at my chest hair as I repeated the motion.

”Unfair advantage,” she whispered but she followed it with a kiss on my chest. We stayed like that for a while, touching each other, until she lifted her hips to climb off me. I glanced down and saw how much of a mess we had made. Our thighs were sticky, our pubic hair soaked. Such an indecent sight; a daughter painted with her father’s ejaculate. I wanted to pull her up, to open her legs so I could clean her up.

”I wouldn’t mind another round,” Mareth said, as if reading my mind in detail, taking my hand in hers as she lay by my side.

I thought my cheeks reddened, an inexplicable reaction after all that had just passed, but it was probably because the spell has lifted. She took my silence as hesitation, though.

”Do you not want me like that any more?” she asked.

”I do.” I hurried to answer. I lifted her hand to my face and kissed her palm. ”I just…”

As my swirling thoughts slowly calmed down, I realised I did not feel much different, even though the effect of the spell was clearly dissipating. The fever of it was gone, the feeling of not being able to resist, but I still found Mareth desirable, wanted her heat around me—_always_, as she said. What did that say about me? Had this depravity lurked under the surface all this time?

She seemed to understand. ”Dad, it’s okay. I think… I think whatever that spell did, it didn’t come out of nowhere. I feel it too.” She stroked my cheek. 

I think I must have blushed deeper, but I had to admit there was truth to her words.

”Mareth, I never would have…”

– _touched me? I know._ She thought it forcefully.

”Me either. But that doesn’t mean we should abandon what we have now that we have it, you know?” She searched my eyes, relieved not to find resistance. The tendrils of her magic caressed me everywhere our skin was in contact. All that power, in our touch.

”Think of what we could do.” She smiled.

Eventually, the kissing and the touching that followed did lead to another round, as she had put it, though my body couldn’t catch up quite as fast as hers.

”Alright, old man,” she said, but fondly, and I settled between her raised knees to clean away the results of our earlier coupling. Her soft skin was still sensitive, and she half-gasped, half-giggled as I kissed down her inner thigh before finally licking up her hot, wet cunt.

It was a while since I had last done this, and for a second I was struck with the thought that I would disappoint her. I felt selfish as her taste spread on my tongue and I couldn’t hold back from licking up hungrily again; the scent and the taste, a mix of us both, hit something in me like a nerve.

Mareth squirmed, made a breathless sound and I looked up to see her gripping the sheets. Her pleasure entered my mind, warm and reassuring. For a second I was overwhelmed with some nearly painful feeling inside my chest, and I pressed my mouth against her silky thigh, afraid I’d say something that ruined the moment.

Pushing away the thoughts of inadequacy, I explored the dips and ridges of her cunt at my leisure. Her black curls hid swollen, sensitive labia, and I felt the texture with the tip of my tongue, parted them to feel the smaller lips before tasting a little deeper and almost breaching her entrance. It made her curl her toes in anticipation; she enjoyed penetration, and half of her wished I’d follow with my fingers, the other half settling in to enjoy a slower pleasure. Obeying the latter wish, I kept my exploration shallow, and she lifted her leg over my shoulder for better access.

I had come profusely; her cunt was filled with the slickness of us both. It dripped out of her as my touch made her muscles tighten inside. Swallowing my own seed little by little, the flavor so long-forgotten it was unfamiliar, I slowly uncovered her singular taste.

She was both sweet and bitter, a little sweaty after our earlier exertion; I felt drunk as I inhaled the scent and quenched my thirst. Besides the taste, I simply enjoyed getting to explore parts of her unknown to me. This, too, felt like a natural progression of our relationship. She radiated joy at the simple pleasure, and I wanted her to feel like that as often as possible, wished that I could give it to her to the best of my abilities.

With my hand splayed on her abdomen, I used thumb and forefinger to pull back the hood of her clitoris. Exposed, it was beautiful, hard and swollen. I licked lightly over it, then sucked it between my lips gently. Mareth didn’t seem to mind the lightness of the touch, continuing her gasp-laughter as I returned to wet my tongue before suckling on the hardened bud with more force. For a while, I settled on alternation between running my tongue slowly up between her labia, and softly kissing her clitoris.

If she swore this time, she hid it behind her hands, when she covered her mouth. I wondered if she always sounded like this when orally pleased, and decided it was a good sound, one I wanted to hear often, as I grazed at her lightly with my teeth and even her moans were giddy, laughter-tinged.

Laughter gave way to a full moan, and another, when she peaked again, a burst of clear slickness filling my mouth as I lapped at her opening and pressed my thumb over her pulsing clitoris and my palm on her warm abdomen.

My knees complained a little as I straightened up from my position. My cock had been awakened by her taste and scent, and Mareth beckoned me down with a lazy tug at my hand. Her thoughts were orgasm-hazy, more impressions than any clear intentions.

”In me again?” she asked, but I shook my head minutely. As much as I had enjoyed filling her, I was already close to spilling.

She pulled me down and blindly reached for my cock. Leaning on one hand, I covered her fist with my own, and a few jerks were enough to bring me over again. It burst over her belly and chest, made its way between her breasts; clear ejaculate, and much less of it than what I filled her with, but enough to look absolutely indecent as I gazed down at her.

Spent and breathless, I let my arms betray my weight and lay down beside her. For a second I feared Mareth found the mess distasteful, but she slid her hand down her chest and stomach lazily, then brought her hand up so she could lick her fingers.

”You taste good, too,” she mumbled.

Finally, we tangled our fingers in a loose hold and let the remaining desire ebb and flow inside. We both must have dozed off for a moment, and when I came to, we had slotted our bodies together and the mess on our skin was more irritating than arousing.

As a solution, Mareth suggested a bath. The queen, ceremonial as she was, had the luxury of her own bath chamber.

The water felt glorious as I slipped in. On the other side of the pool, Mareth washed her face; suddenly, she snorted with amusement.

”I have come in my _eyelashes_,” she said, with no hint of bashfulness; I think I felt self-conscious for us both. Mareth moved closer and seemed to want to assure me. ”And that,” she said against my lips, ”is stupidly, ridiculously hot.”

”Wash my hair?” she asked once we parted. She turned around in my arms and we sat down, her between my legs again.

I pulled the pins out of her hair and carded my fingers through the small braids to loosen them. Satisfying my desire, I enjoyed the silky feeling for a while before pouring cups of water over her hair and reaching for Mareth’s favoured scented soap.

”You’re good with your hands,” she muttered, more earnest than suggestive, as I massaged her scalp. Once her hair was done, I washed her back and arms, and when I brought my hands to her belly she took my wrist and guided one hand between her legs under the warm water. I stroked her slowly, and she leaned back against me.

“What was the spell really – mm – about?”

“I don’t know,” I said. As the daze was lifting, what we had done now struck me as incredibly irresponsible. A druid should never engage in unfamiliar magic. We’d need to investigate the matter further.

”Well, whatever it was, nothing has to change, right?” She took my left hand and brought it up so she could kiss its back. ”It’ll be the same. Just with more fucking,” she said and kissed my knuckles next. ”Or what does the head advisor say?”

I rubbed my nose into her cheek, enjoying the sound that escaped her lips. ”It is the opinion of the head advisor that crass language does not behoove a queen.” I rarely had the inclination to jest, but Mareth’s lightness filled my chest.

”Perhaps I should demote you. Make you my bedslave.” Mareth bit my hand gently where thumb joined heel.

I hid my smile in her shoulder.

”Slavery was outlawed centuries ago.”

”I could reinstate it. Just so I could stop all this –” she gasped, ”– backtalk.”

”As you wish, my queen.”

She had little to say after that, and as she slipped around in my arms and pressed her lips against mine once more, she tasted of family.


End file.
